


Putty in Your Hands

by Alistra (ALeaseInWonderland)



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Prompt Fill, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:22:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26303368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALeaseInWonderland/pseuds/Alistra
Summary: STRIKE Team Delta undercover at an esoteric marriage-counselling resort, expressing their emotions via the medium of clay.Be_Compromised Summer Promptathon 2020 fill, and  Bingo Square D4: Undercover
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35
Collections: Be Compromised Promptathon, be_compromised Bingo Collection





	Putty in Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkvoices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkvoices/gifts).



> Inkvoices prompted: "At some kind of retreat (ie writer's retreat, musicians, art...) - could be AU or undercover?" 
> 
> Beta by [CloudAtlas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/) \- Dankeschön.

They've been perfectly inconspicuous guests at this marriage-counselling resort for the wealthy for more than a week now. Clint already thought he'd be needing unprecedented amounts of patience, but he's beginning to wonder whether there's such a thing as whiplash from too much nodding with fake sympathy. Natasha, in her role as _Nadine Ratcliffe_ , has spent her time extracting information about a certain hit on a high-ranking member of the World Security Council from the unsuspecting circle of frustrated wives, so Clint's entertainment has been sparse. 

Posing as _Clark Ratcliffe_ , he has been sitting in a circle of husbands bemoaning the stressful effects that financially suppressing the 99% has had on their ability to keep up with the libidinous demands of their mistresses. 

When it is his turn to share, to relieve at least some of his boredom he starts embellishing the Ratcliffe's previously agreed-upon backstory with an affair of his own. It's worth it too, to pretend not to be aware of most of the racist and homophobic discomfort halfway through the tale. In fact, it's so entertaining he's adding another whole fifteen minutes of waxing lyrical about the imaginary young intern's impressive black cock, carrying on until eventually their spiritual leader calls a break and runs, suspiciously hunched over, for the nearest exit.

Alas, today's exercise has less comedic potential: It’s a pottery class.

"That's it, time's up!" Instructor Harem Pants chirps. Clint cannot be bothered to use the clearly made-up hippie name they introduced themselves with, not even in the privacy of his own mind and especially not if they insist on talking to a room full of adults as if they were a group of kindergarteners.

Happily Harem Pants applauds themselves as much as the group of adults hunched around chunks of clay. Clint mentally claps himself on the back for not groaning; although she has her back to him, he knows that Natasha will see right through his frustration.

"Let's see what magic you guys wrought!" the instructor stage-whispers, as if sharing an illicit secret. 

Everybody swivels their chairs around to share their work and, with a small smile, Nadine Ratcliffe's eyes meet her husbands. It's smooth, the way she first places her clay sculpture on the table before minutely raising both hands, stretches her fingers and sharply twists them palms outwards - it's unlikely anyone else will have picked up on the fact that she's not displaying pride in her creation but signed _All Done_ in ASL.

Finally!

Clint allows the relief at ending the charade to flit across his face.

"Let's see, who wants to go first? How about you, Benji," says Harem Pants, unaware of the exchange. "Do you want to show us what you cherish about Hilda?"

It doesn't take an academically trained art critic to see a piggy bank in the young man's piece of clay, even though he makes a valiant attempt at describing some vague symbolism surrounding an animal that bonds for life. At least Hilda seems smitten, so maybe it'll work out alright, Clint thinks. He's wondering whether Esther across from him will be making up something about the Leaning Tower of Pisa or just forego all pretence and straight up admit that what she crafted is a dick when he hears his own name.

"Nadine, what do you cherish about Clark?" Harem Pants asks.

"Clark and I have, like, really learned so much from your seminar and that," Nadine says, her accent as fake as the cheeky twist to her smile is real, "and I'm, like, so grateful?" She turns her work around to show to the room. Offset with a pattern that, if you were to look really closely, could potentially resemble tiny hourglasses, an arrow pierces the shape of a heart. "When we first met, it was, like, as if cupid had struck me down? He, like, shot me with his arrow and ever since then it's, like, been a completely different life for me?"

Clint doesn't have to fake the broad grin splitting his face while the room _oohs_ and _aahs_ with misplaced romantic notions.

"That is so beautiful!" Harem Pants sounds close to tears. "Clark? What did you make for Nadine?"

"First of all, I don't think there's enough clay in the world to make models of _everything_ I cherish about her," he says, and unsurprisingly everybody sighs happily all over again. Natasha grins right back at him and, even if appearing to have reconciled themselves is as good a way to finish the mission as any, he finds he's not lying about this part.

"But above all, she's this..." he proudly shows off his creation, biting his tongue to keep a straight face as the room falls silent. Brows draw together, heads tilt in scrutiny of the shapeless blob in front of him.

"It's a big rock!" he explains after a moment, full of fake exasperation. "She's my rock!"

Immediately the room titters a chorus of, "Yes, naturally!" and, "Of course!" and, "That's what I wanted to say right away!"

The fake Ratcliffes rise as one and meet in the middle of the room, Clark lifting Nadine right off her feet in a tight embrace, ringed by terrible sculptures and smitten couples.

It's entirely Natasha who whispers into Clint's ear, "You're so full of shit," her quiet laughter the sweetest declaration of love he's ever heard.

**Author's Note:**

> If you spotted the BtVS ref: *high five*


End file.
